


you are second-hand smoke

by tworoads



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst and Feels, Best Friends, Boarding School, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Pining, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tworoads/pseuds/tworoads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn’s glad winter break is over. he didn’t feel home at home at all. liam kind of runs into his life at a bad time, because being back at school doesn’t feel right at all either.</p><p> </p><p>or, boarding school AU where zayn and harry sit out on the windowsill smoking (it’s their best friend thing), louis and harry’s relationship is new (to everyone), liam comes out of nowhere (maybe) and niall pays a visit from ireland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are second-hand smoke

**Author's Note:**

> you know sometimes when you were a teenager you'd just feel like absolute shit for no reason? i just wanted to write about a guy feeling like an angsty teen despite all the things happening around him, and he doesn't even know why. zayn’s got a best mate harry and a good friend louis and he finds liam, but something feels wrong. this is about being a teenager and not being capable of feeling all his feelings at once, really.
> 
> ps: if you read my other works, you know that i enjoy best friend dynamic. upon reflection, i realised this turned out to be as much about zayn and harry's friendship as it did zayn and liam's courtship. whoops!
> 
> title comes from brand new’s ‘the boy who blocked his own shot’ and the quote is shakespearean, r+j. enjoy.

_love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs_   
_being purged, a fire sparkling in lover’s eyes, being vexed_   
_a sea nourished with lovers’ tears. what is it else?_

 

 

zayn inhales deeply. the end of the cigarette between his fingers burns a bright orange as the tobacco smoke pools in his lungs.

the air is fresh and he sucks on his cigarette, willing his body to warm up. winter break has just passed but it seems even colder up here than it was when he left just a few short weeks ago.

he waits for the twitch under his skin that has followed him, all day on the train and the bus, to finally go. he sighs. zayn can’t really remember when he took up smoking. its hard to pick a moment in time. harry had been smoking for years when they first got roomed together and zayn lets himself smile at the memory of poaching cigarettes from his pack when he was in the library studying.

rain begins to drizzle outside, and zayn swings his legs back and forth to catch some on his boots, and zayn feels at home. he always gets like this upon return to school after a break; all silly and pensive. he sits on the familiar ledge and wonders where home is anymore. this window, and this view has been home to zayn for the past four years. bradford seems like a world away.

“hello handsome,” a smooth voice interrupts his thoughts.

zayn jolts, and drops his cigarette. peeking over the edge experimentally, he sees the cigarette fallen a far way down and right into a puddle.

he slides back into the room with a scowl, “fuck you,” he says to harry, without the venom, “don’t sneak up on people when they’re halfway out of a _window_!”

harry actually looks pretty pleased with himself, as if zayn would be no loss, though they both know to say that out loud would be a dirty, rotten lie. harry’s been zayn’s room mate since the first day of ninth grade, and his best friend since the second.

“you alright?” harry asks with a grin, moving forward to embrace zayn in a hug. he smells musky and manly and just like harry, the same as always. zayn exhales against him, tired from his day of travelling and still feeling all twitchy, his arms encircle harry’s waist and lets himself lean into it.

“if you’re gonna fall asleep, do it on your own bed,” harry says from somewhere next to his ear, giving him a final squeeze and pulling back. he sets his bag down on his bed as zayn turns to shut the window, keeping out the breeze. “how was your christmas?”

“you know,” zayn tells him, “the usual. the girls got make-up as presents which was just weird. made me realize how much time i don’t spend at home. how was yours?”

harry shrugs, “it was nice to see my family again, but,” he stops, as if considering his words, “i missed certain things that this place has to offer.”

zayn feels a fond smile tug at his mouth, “just _say_ that you missed louis.”

harry’s laugh is a short bark, “never even alluded to it,” he says, turning around to unpack his bag.

“ooh, _alluded_ ,” zayn repeats mockingly, turning towards his own bed. a rolled up pair of socks come to hit him in the head, and he grins behind harry’s back, feeling home and safe and happy in the tiny room with his best friend.

-

harry pulls his cigarettes out of his back pocket, and zayn reaches for one.

“hm, no,” he refuses simply.

zayn can feel how appalled his face must look. “you made me kill mine in a three story fall into a puddle. and almost sent me falling with it, now _gimme one_.”

“you wouldn’t want one anyway,” harry says, “i’m smoking menthols.” zayn frowns. “louis,” harry says finally, “he doesn’t like cigarettes.” he has the good sense to sound embarrassed, cheeks lighting up a dull pink. zayn makes a whipping sound with his tongue through his teeth, mockery.

harry would _never_ truly quit smoking: mostly because it’s their thing. they’ve been sitting out on their windowsill for four years, smoking cigarettes and talking bullshit and being zayn and harry.

“m’gonna go down to the village,” zayn mutters, grabbing his wallet and keys, “seeing as you’re a _terrible friend_.”

“mhm,” harry is lounging back on his bed with his phone out, presumably texting louis, “it’s good to see you, too.”

-

zayn opts for the ten minute bus ride into town as opposed to the half an hour walk, mostly because it’s raining and maybe a little bit because he’s lazy. his skin is humming again, being cooped up on the bus. there are a few other kids from school, but he puts his ear buds in.

the local petrol station where he normally buys his smokes reads _closed for renovation_ so zayn spots a milk bar just down the road, makes a quick dash through the rain and enters the general store.

he’s only been in here a few times, and it was a year or so ago upon his last visit. zayn takes a chocolate bar for harry and a pack of gum off the shelf before asking for “a pack of marlborough ultra-lights as well, thanks?”

“don’t sell to underages, sorry kid.”

irritation becomes zayn, but he flashes the woman a charming smile, “what, you don’t sell candy to children?”

“no cigarettes to minors,” she says, façade never dropping.

zayn sighs, and sets a note down on the counter. “i’ll take the gum,” he says glumly, without a fight.

the bus shelter is tiny, and barely stops the rain from getting through. all this and no cigarettes. zayn waits for the bus, plotting out multiple ways to kill harry and pin it on other people.

“hey,” a voice comes, and zayn whips around to see a boy who looks older than him huddle for shelter under the bus stop.

he replies uncertainly, “hi.”

“marlborough ultra-lights, right?” the boy asks, fishing a pack out of his jacket pocket. it’s a varsity jacket, one from their school, but zayn doesn’t even recognize him.

he smiles at him through his confusion, “yeah?”

the boy throws them at him. zayn scrambles to catch them before they _also_ end up in a puddle. “didn’t know if you wanted twenties or twenty-fives, but I opted for the bigger packet. just in case,” he adds with a small smile.

“thanks,” zayn says, putting one to his lips immediately. he holds out the packet to the boy, who holds his palms up.

“no, thank you,” he says very politely, “i don’t smoke.”

confusion swirls around in zayn’s brain but he’s satisfied and he’s smoking and he’s standing in a bus shelter with a very kind stranger. “i’m liam,” the stranger adds.

“nice to meet you, liam,” he offers a hand to shake.

water droplets get caught in liam’s brown hair as they boards the bus together, and zayn can’t help but watch the way he shakes them out on the ride back to school.

-

zayn only _just_ makes it back in time for dinner, where harry has saved him a plate of food.

“zayney baby!” louis calls out as he approaches, cigarettes hidden in the depths of his leather jacket’s pocket and liam’s face burnt into his mind. he’d been trying to place him on the bus ride back to school, but can’t remember ever seeing him around.

“one year older but forever young,” zayn muses, “how was your christmas, lou?”

“who gives a fuck about christmas?” louis laughs as zayn takes a seat next to him in the dining hall, “you said it yourself, i had a fucking _birthday_.”

zayn had wanted to go to louis’ birthday party so, _so_ bad. he knew harry had taken the trip from his own home, only a few hours away from louis’. zayn had never felt quite so sad as he did scrolling through the facebook photos of louis, drunk and covered in glitter and streamers with his arms thrown around a smiling harry.

there were things about home that zayn craved sometimes. looking down at his first meal back at school, he felt a pang of longing for his mum’s cooking, but the twin smiles louis and harry were giving him pretty much balanced it out. being home when he felt like he should have been with harry and louis, drunk and stupid and singing and shaking his hips – it was stupid, but zayn wished he never went home.

“how was your little excursion?” harry asks, picking at his mashed potato.

louis looks startled, “only a few hours back and you wanted to leave?”

at this point in time, zayn’s not sure.

“ _someone_ made me go get some more smokes,” he says with a pointed glare and digging half-heartedly into his own food. he doesn’t even feel particularly hungry.

“not for me,” harry clarifies quickly, “i’m quitting.”

louis leans over the table to stroke his curls with a smile.

zayn focuses on eating because they’re kind of disgusting. “hey,” he says, “do you guys know liam?”

harry doesn’t even break gaze with louis. “liam who?”

he shrugs, “i don’t know, brown hair, sort of my height. he’s a boy.”

“well done zayn, you’ve really painted a picture for us there,” louis’ voice is dripping sarcasm as he turns to grin at him.

he rolls his eyes, “liam? do you know _any_ liams at all?”

“my new room mate is a liam,” louis says very casually, as if it’s no big deal, “he is a boy and he does have brown hair, but if that’s the description we’re going on then your mystery man could be me or haz.”

“ew,” zayn wrinkles his nose, “no offence, but no thank you.”

“ooh, threesome!” harry sounds far too excited at the prospect.

“ _no_ ,” zayn says firmly, pointing his fork at him threateningly.

-

zayn starts smoking cigarettes down by the bleachers after school. it’s _fucking_ freezing out, and he’s a masochist, and it takes a couple of days of his new routine to even spot liam, but when he does, it’s totally worth it, and he mentally thanks louis for the inside information.

liam’s dressed in the school’s sport uniform. he’s running through the dewy grass of the oval, and zayn pretends not to look when liam stops short, spotting him.

“hey,” liam says when he reaches the bleachers, “marlborough ultra-lights?”

“i prefer zayn,” he allows.

something in his eyes lights up. “oh,” liam says, “so you _are_ zayn. louis said you were asking after me.”

zayn feels his skin flush up, and suddenly wishes he hadn’t worn so many layers. it’s not even that cold outside in the middle of the british winter, is it?

he smiles weakly, “just didn’t know much about you,” he tries desperately to keep it light.

liam’s chest is heaving from the laps he’s been doing of the oval, his sneakers covered in stray blades of bright green grass, and zayn feels silly. the boy bought him a deck of cigarettes one time, what’s the big deal? liam takes a seat next to him.

“you know i’ve gone to this school for three years,” he says, the light dimming in his eyes a bit.

zayn’s head whips to the side, “no way,” he refuses to believe it, “i haven’t seen you around.”

“they weren’t consecutive,” he allows with a small smile, “started here in ninth form and transferred for last year to an irish boarding school on a track scholarship. now i’m back.”

“what, they stopped running in ireland?”

liam chuckles quietly, wind rustling his hair. “you’re funny.”

he shrugs, “i try.” he’s trying to look like he’s not trying but he’s actually trying kind of _really hard_ , it’s kinda meta and he’s very embarrassed at himself inside his own head.

-

the chill in the air is soaked right into zayn’s clothes when he makes it back to their room. louis is spread out on his bed, _not harry’s, but his_ with his shirt off and harry is halfway down his body. biology text books are scattered all over the floor.

“okay, not on my bed, _please_ ,” zayn shields his eyes as he drops his bag and takes off his coat, waiting for them to close up shop. it’s way too cold to go find something else to do.

louis is pink in the cheeks, has the good sense to look embarrassed. harry just looks _smug_. “my bed has books on it.”

a mental reminder to scatter anything and everything he owns across his sheets before exiting the room at all times flashes through his mind.

louis buttons up his shirt, the school’s emblem sitting proudly on his chest and his erection _very obvious_ in his trousers. “i’ll see you lads at dinner,” he smiles at them both, pressing a kiss to the juncture at harry’s lips and cheek. “zayn,” he farewells him almost sheepishly before leaving.

“you guys are unbelievable,” zayn says. he’s not angry or anything, just making an observation.

“believe it,” harry says with a wink.

harry and louis only got together like, three months ago. he doesn’t keep track of their anniversaries or anything, so he’s not sure, but in reality it _seems_ like forever. it’s been the three of them for a long while: louis joined their little trio not long after harry and zayn became friends, and one night in the cover of darkness, with both of their legs dangling off of their windowsill and cigarette smoke filling the air around them, harry had whispered, “i think i’m honest to god in love with louis.”

zayn wouldn’t say that he’s felt any jealousy since they got together, but he’s definitely been feeling twitchy since the winter break, and louis’ party, going home and coming back.

he pulls out his crumpled packet of smokes, “want one?” he holds them out.

harry looks at the packet, sort of a longing expression on his face. “how about we share?” he offers.

legs dangling on the windowsill, they pass the cigarette back and forth. “louis said that liam’s been talking about you, y’know,” harry says with an impish little smile, “said that liam’s noticed you pretend to draw while he runs the past few days.”

“when did you and louis have time to actually _talk_?” zayn asks, face perfectly blank.

harry exhales, grin turning satisfied, and grey smoke streams steadily into the air between them. “what do you think?” harry asks, “you think liam could be your louis?”

“harry and louis: a great love story,” zayn muses out loud, kicking his shoe against harry’s, “along the lines of romeo and juliet and tristain and isolde and sid and nancy.”

“not planning on stabbing him anytime soon,” harry says with a little frown. a moment passes, and then the self-satisfaction returns to his voice, “except my giant _dick_.”

zayn sticks his fingers in his ears and yells gibberish out loud until harry stops. by then, harry’s smoked all of his cigarette, anyway.

-

liam’s not in any of zayn’s classes, but he turns out to be in zayn’s study hall. after lunch on thursday, he’s absent-mindedly doodling in his sketchbook when a red faced liam bursts through the door ungracefully.

a few kids chuckle quietly.

“sorry, sorry.” he apologizes profusely to the supervising teacher, “i had track practice at lunch and it ran over time.”

zayn laughs out loud, can’t really help himself, and liam chances a glance at him. his eyes may or may not flash with something, glee or excitement or wonder with his presence in this class, but zayn doesn’t want to get too in over his head. he ducks his face back down at his page.

when liam claims his seat, it’s right next to zayn.

“you think my misfortune is hilarious, huh?”

zayn looks up at liam and cant help but notice his brown hair, sweaty and stuck to his forehead and not styled like it was last time he saw him, maybe he took a shower after practice? maybe zayn has to consider eating lunch in the boy’s locker room. he physically shakes the ridiculous thoughts out of his head, disguising it as a sneeze.

liam says, “god bless you.”

“you actually said that _track_ practice _ran_ over time,” zayn explains to him with a small smile.

“oh,” a smile of his own grows over liam’s face, “yeah, i guess i’m pretty punny.”

zayn laughs again, has to bite his lip to stop his smile from splitting his face. liam’s watching him again with that same look in his eyes, a unique sort of wonder that he’s not used to anyone staring at him with. perhaps the same stare with which louis follows harry around. his laugh is bright and loud, and liam has a low, lovely chuckle, and the teacher has to ask the two of them to be quiet.

-

liam joins them at dinner that night, simply sliding down onto the chair next to louis. “hey,” he gives a small smile to zayn, a confidential edge to it. there’s not even anything confidential to be confidential about, but zayn feels good about the whole thing anyway.

“hi,” he smiles back and everything. “um, harry, this is liam.”

“we’ve already met,” harry says with a grin full of corn.

liam leans across the table, “harry likes to take his clothes off around louis a lot.”

“you noticed too, huh?” zayn laughs.

“so honey,” louis talks and it’s exaggerated, makes zayn laugh louder, “how was your day?”

“books, paper, pens,” harry shrugs, “a lot of doodling your name inside love hearts. school hasn’t really changed much since before winter break.”

zayn’s inclined to disagree. _inclined to_ , but doesn’t. something about this semester just seems. different. different in a good, liam shaped way, but then there’s different in a fuzzy, twitchy, hard to put his finger on way.

liam’s phone buzzes and louis snatches it up before the other boy can even put his knife and fork down. “louis,” liam disapproves loudly.

“ooh,” he teases, “who’s _niall_?”

zayn’s stomach drops and he feels awkward and silly all of a sudden, like he’s going through puberty all over again in the space of the three seconds that it takes liam to answer. “a friend from ireland,” he mumbles with a bit of a blush, and zayn’s hope turns buoyant again. “he’s coming to visit in a few days, actually.”

“a friend or a _friend_?” louis wiggles his eyebrows and harry laughs at him, bright and loud and only in the way that someone so stupidly in love with another stupid person can.

“a friend,” liam says sternly, looking embarrassed, “i don’t. i mean, i don’t have any friends.”

“sure you do,” louis says loudly with encouragement, exactly at the same time zayn looks up across the table and straight at liam and says, “you’ve got me.”

liam’s eyes flicker to zayn’s for a moment before he turns red and smiles down at his plate.

zayn feels a foot edge between his, nudging under his trouser’s leg. his heart flutters about for a moment, thinking _what if_ , but then he sees the concentrated expression on louis’ face. “christ, lou,” zayn jolts his feet out of reach, “that’s _my_ foot.”

-

classes have finally settled in, and the workload is getting heavy. their room is thankfully empty when zayn gets back after the final bell rings, flopping back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling.

schoolwork is a nice distraction from the blurriness in the corners of his feeling about being back at school. it’s been a good three years since he’s called it “school”: it’s always been _home_. going home didn’t feel much like home either.

zayn feels stuck in a fulcrum.

the door opens and harry is, once more, thankfully alone. “you want a smoke?” he asks, taking one look at zayn.

they leg it out to the windowsill, and he pulls out his packet while harry just sits there. “i only have one left,” he says quietly.

harry shrugs while he lights up. he offers the other boy a drag, but he turns it away. “you look like you need it more than i do,” harry observes. he’s kind of accurate. “you okay?”

“yeah,” zayn stares out at the trees on the edge of school grounds, “m’fine, really. i feel a bit off but i can’t actually put my finger on it.”

it’s a little bit of a lie. he knows he feels all weird but good but still weird about liam, and being back at school is driving him mad and making his skin prickle and twitch, and that for some reason harry’s refusal to share his cigarettes this semester is making him crazy and feel betrayed, irrationally. but telling him that he ‘feels a bit off’ is insight enough.

there’s a frown on harry’s face. “good to be back though, right?”

“yeah.” in the distance, zayn thinks he can see liam running circles around the oval, “good to be back.”

-

the bus approaches the stop where zayn’s been praying that after his 10 minute ride into town, a different girl will be working in the store. when the bus pulls up, liam steps off with a blonde boy in tow.

“hey,” zayn greets him, trying to curb the enthusiasm in his smile.

“zayn!” liam, on the other hand, has barely hidden excitement as he digs into his pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, “marlborough ultra-lights.”

he catches them and misses the bus, grinning ear to ear as it pulls away. “thanks liam.” the softness of his voice betrays him. the blonde boy clears his throat.

“right, zayn this is niall.”

niall extends a hand and wears a bright smile and zayn can’t feel like he’s being sized up. “wowee,” niall chirps, “ _the_ zayn malik, i can’t believe i’m meeting you in the tall, dark and handsome flesh at last.”

zayn shakes his hand and smiles and tries to play his cards right, feeling this weird, desperation to seek niall’s approval and hope he will like him. they all walk back up to school together, brand new deck of cigarettes sitting tight in the pocket of zayn’s jeans.

-

liam treats niall like a little brother, and it’s endearing. equally as endearing as the subtle curl in his brown hair and the flecks of gold in his eyes and the shape of his lips, the curve and dip of his collar bones beneath toned, athletic skin and the way his muscles shift with every movement under his t-shirt.

zayn thinks he might have developed a problem when all he draws is cartoons of liam, portraits of liam and sketches of athletic figures in motion, so obviously and subconsciously _liam_. to be fair, he’s spent a lot of time on the bleachers being an observer of sport. maybe it’s just rubbing off.

maybe denial is one of those steps to admitting that you have a problem.

the other thing is that for a day or so, it’s _niallandliam_ and it’s _harryandlouis_ , and so zayn sits around his room smoking cigarettes out the window all day wondering about what louis said, if liam wants niall to be his friend or his _friend_ and driving himself half mad, to the point of where his skin is crawling and he’s feeling all queasy because he’s too full of thoughts, and all he wants to do is talk to harry. but the cycle continues, as harry is with louis and liam is with niall and zayn scrunches up balls of drawings of boys who look like liam, paper singed with cigarette ash.

when harry comes back into the room before dinner, shaking some snow out of his hair with a pink nose, he’s dopey and smiley and zayn rolls his eyes because him and louis probably fucked in the woods again. “hey,” harry grins at him.

“hi,” zayn says, “smoke?” he asks immediately, opening the window back up, “liam bought me a new pack yesterday.”

“nah,” harry says, “i’m good.”

“fine, smoke your menthol shit, then,” zayn gives harry a short laugh with his mouth, not with his eyes or his mind.

“nope,” there’s even an edge of pride to harry’s voice, “i quit.”

“you. quit?”

“yeah, i haven’t had a cigarette in a week and two days. a week and one day if you don’t count the one we shared last week.”

“oh okay, so you don’t count all the cigarettes we’ve shared?” he mutters, “cool. great..”

the room already smells like cigarette smoke from his day of chain smoking and it mocks him.

harry begins talking, but zayn cuts him off. “harry fucking styles, all i want is to sit out on the windowsill with you and have a fucking cigarette,” zayn snaps, and with the limited amount of self-reflection he’s currently capable of, zayn knows that it’s stupid, but harry’s being stupid, too.

“zayn, man, calm down, i’ll still sit with you always.” harry has a small, confused smile on his face.

he explodes. he can’t help it. “i don’t want you to fucking _sit_ with me, harry! you and i have been doing this for four fucking years, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

harry takes a few rushed steps towards him, curls bouncing. “jesus, zayn, what’s gotten into you?”

“what’s gotten into _you_?” he bites back, unable to stop himself, “aside from _louis,_ of course.”

“this is about _louis_?” harry’s voice implies the incredulousness of the situation, and zayn knows it’s all stupid but that’s how everything feels right now. all overwhelming at school, fucked up and strange with harry and louis, new and confusing with liam. he feels alienated from everything in his life, and harry wont even let him ground himself with a cigarette between friends.

“no,” he mutters, “but while we’re on the subject, i didn’t realize the minute that he told you to do something that you’d just lay down and do it.” he spins on his heel, “oh wait, you _do_ , fucking lie down with louis on _my bed_ and do whatever you want, _fuck_.” zayn’s thrown the packet of cigarettes on the floor, and he’s breathing heavily, and he wants to go home. he just doesn’t know where that is, anymore.

harry is staring at him like he’s a tame animal, gone uncharacteristically wild and thrashing about in its cage.

-

he’s smoking on the bleachers, doesn’t know if harry’s left their room or gone to dinner or what. zayn doesn’t feel particularly hungry, and doesn’t want to have to watch the guilty way louis will make eyes at him after he hears about him and harry, watch the shame of louis feeling perhaps like him and harry aren’t looking after him well enough.

“hey,” a voice comes and he whips around to see who it is. “zayn?”

grey smoke streams from his mouth when he replies, “hey, niall.”

the field lights create a flood on the oval in front of him, framing a blinding and angelic circle around niall as he approaches and drops down next to him. “fuck, it’s cold out here.”

“what are you doing?” he tries very hard not to sound rude.

“liam’s going for a run, said i’d meet him down here but he’s obviously taking his time.” the eyeroll that accompanies niall’s speech is endearing and brotherly, like he loves liam’s uncommon misplacement of time, like he loves _liam_. “can i bum a smoke?”

“you’re a smoker?” he tries very hard not to sound surprised, this time.

niall laughs, mouth stretching into a wide smile. “i like a cigatette here and there.”

he hands the boy one, and fishes his lighter from his pocket despite the fact that niall looks like a baby, all blonde hair and bright eyes and bundled up in a coat and scarf as if it doesn’t get cold in ireland like it does here.

“what’re you doing down here?” niall makes conversation, “drawing anything?”

zayn frowns. he holds his empty hands up and flashes them around in innocence. “just here to think,” he assures him. a beat passes, and then, “why would i be drawing?”

niall exhales and shrugs, “liam says you draw.”

a warm sort of feeling fills up zayn’s chest, but it might just be the cigarette that he sucks on.

“liam texts you halfway across great britain to tell you that i draw when he runs laps sometimes?” he laughs sheepishly, trying to hide any of his satisfaction.

“liam owes it to me,” niall laughs along with him. zayn can tell that he’s not trying to embarrass zayn or anything, he’s genuinely nice and funny and easy going. he sucks down his cigarette before butting it out, wondering if he could kidnap niall from ireland and force him to be his new harry. “after all that time he spent mooning over you back at school, the least he can do is sent me progress reports.” niall laughs loudly at that.

it takes zayn a second to get to the same page that niall’s on. “sorry, what?”

“he’s bloody chirpy as ever now that you two are finally,” niall pauses and gives him a once over, smile widening, “well, whatever it is you two are doing. the poor lad was buzzing the first day you finally spoke to him, my phone wouldn’t _stop_.”

zayn maintains his silence, feeling awkward and uncomfortable in his own skin. it’s that same feeling that lurks around whenever he’s been thinking about being back at school lately, or when he was back at home during break; when he facebook stalked harry and lou and felt sad and alone. he feels too big for his skin.

“oh, shit,” niall sounds upset, “i just blew it, didn’t i? fuck, liam said that you two were. well, you know.”

“no, no, we _are_ ,” zayn assures him, even though he and liam aren’t even. “i mean,” he corrects himself, “i want to. i think i want to, he’s. well, he’s liam, he’s lovely and smart and makes me laugh, and he’s fit and literally fit, too, god he runs around this thing like twelve times a day.” zayn realizes that he sounds like one of his teenage sisters, sighs and hangs his head. “i have all of these feelings for him already.” he wants to add _even though he just came out of nowhere_ , but niall has just proved him entirely different on that point.

-

on sunday, zayn lounges about his room which harry avoids. niall pops by and says goodbye, says it was lovely to meet him, says, “I’ll see you soon,” like it’s a promise that will come true. he eyes the pile of suspiciously liam shaped drawings with a coy smile. “you should talk to him, y’know,” he says, “about your feelings and stuff.”

“feelings and stuff,” zayn echoes with a short laugh, “you make it sound so simple.”

“isn’t it?”

zayn still feels all guilty when he thinks about what niall said the night before, about liam’s feelings for him and it all swirls together ugly and grey shaded when he thinks about his fight? with harry. zayn’d hardly call it a fight, he really just used harry as a verbal punching bag for a while.

“what’s complicated about it, zayn?” he asks, taking a seat in harry’s un-slept-in bed, “you like liam and liam likes you. i’d say he’s pretty in love with you by this point,” niall adds, and the thought makes zayn’s heart jump up and down, run laps in his chest like liam does.

zayn’s starting to think _he’s_ what’s complicated.

-

louis throws zayn a note during english on tuesday that reads _i’m sorry zayney :(_

and really, he has nothing to be sorry for. the problem’s all zayn, but louis has this uncanny ability to care desperately for people when he looks like he’s not. he’s all obnoxious laughter and practical jokes and groping harry (and sometimes zayn) in public, but underneath there’s so much more. louis loves harry fiercely, and he’s sternly loyal to zayn, and the same goes to harry: a friend to the core, and zayn _knows_ that.

he just forgot.

he scrawls a little loveheart on the note and balls it up, throwing it at louis head. lou laughs out loud and launches at him, dotting kisses all over his face in the middle of their teacher’s _antony and cleopatra_ reading, making the other boys wolf whistle and yell.

-

“so, apparently you and louis tomlinson are hooking up,” liam drops down next to him, “and have a fetish for public places. like classrooms.”

“we got a detention for public indecency and everything.”

“really?”

“well, the detention part is true,” he says, looking out onto the empty track field on the oval. liam’s not even dressed in his running gear. he laughs quietly at what zayn says, follows his stare and they fall into silence.

“you knew who i was,” zayn says, amazed at his own courage. there’s a cigarette in his hand, unlit, and he tosses it back and forth between sweaty palms, “that first day when you spoke to me at the bus stop, you knew me.”

“s’not the first time we spoke,” liam tells him. he turns an endearing shade of pink as zayn’s eyes bore into him.

liam brings his hand to rub at the back of his neck and after a moment, he meets zayn’s gaze uncomfortably, “the first time was ninth grade, we were in the same orientation group at school and we had to go around the circle and tell each other our names, and you told me you were ‘zayn with a y’.”

zayn barely remembers, has vague recollections of sitting cross legged on the carpet of the library in a little group of boys, but he couldn’t say who was there.

“i thought you were so _pretty_ ,” liam admits with a silly laugh, “admittedly, i didn’t know what that meant, at the time. you just intrigued me so much. second time we spoke, you apologized for opening the bathroom door in my face in a hurry in tenth grade, and a few months later you dropped your detention slip in the hall, and i ran up to you and gave it to you and you made some silly sarcastic remark about not wanting to lose it.”

zayn gulps, heart a flutter. definitely sounds like him.

“and by that time, you’d well and truly hit puberty so it was just painfully awkward and hard for me to even _look_ at you because, well. _look at you_ ,” liam repeats with an embarrassed laugh, and a once over that leaves zayn hot under the collar. his blood pumps through his veins a little faster.

“you told niall about me.” it’s not a question.

“niall asked once if i liked boys or girls,” liam admits, “i said I liked _a_ boy. a lot.”

zayn doesn’t really know what to say. liam’s saying the kindest and most flattering things to him that anyone has ever said: telling him the kinds of things that could make a boy fall stupidly and dangerously, head over heels.

“when i got roomed with louis at the start of term, he said he’d help,” liam confesses, sounding perhaps a little bit embarrassed, “that first day you went into town, harry told lou and lou told me and i had a fake ID which is just silly because i don’t even _drink_ but i thought if i could just buy you that pack of cigarettes, i. yeah,” he cuts himself off with a sheepish laugh, red as a tomato. “you must think i’m so creepy, gosh.”

liam says things like _gosh_ and _god bless you_ instead of saying _fuck_.

“it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me.” zayn’s voice sounds soft and astounded even to his own ears. “you went to all that trouble for me, and i. i mean, i can’t believe i didn’t know you all this time.”

this time, liam looks forlorn, looks off into the distance. “yeah, well,” and he shrugs. he sounds _sad_ , like he wishes it was different, too, and that guilt bubbles back up through zayn and all he wants is for liam to just look at him again. he cups a hand to liam’s jaw angles him back towards him, then kisses him, square on the mouth.

liam wastes no time leaning into him with a hand finding zayn’s hair. he keens, gasps into the boy’s mouth and their tongues flicker warmly together. zayn hopes his silent apology is apology enough.

“you know what they say,” liam says quietly, “kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray.”

“oh please,” zayn licks his lips, “you love it.”

-

harry’s sitting on the ledge when zayn makes it back to their room.

he and liam missed dinner, but decided to call it a day underneath the bleachers when even their body heat couldn’t warm each other and ice was creeping slowly into one another’s veins.

“don’t do it harry,” zayn drawls out, closing the door and removing his scarf, “you’ve got so much to live for.”

he hears harry laugh from the windowsill, and that’s when he knows they’re going to be okay. zayn leaves his coat and his boots on, and climbs out there to join him.

for a while, he watches the tandem dangle of their legs swing in the air together. it’s harry who speaks first. “are we alright?” he asks.

 

“i’m sorry about the yelling,” zayn answers, and hopefully by means of addressing the question, “i’ve been dealing with some stuff.”

“you wanna talk about it?”

zayn shrugs, watching the stars emerge in the cold, black sky. “my christmas was kind of shitty,” he admits, “i thought coming back here would fix it, but it was pretty shitty for a while here, too.”

’m sorry if i’ve been too wrapped up in louis.” harry’s hand reaches for his. “i will never not be here for you, you know that, right?” he asks firmly, and it sounds like a promise.

harry’s hand feels warm and rough in his, feels steady and right and proper; feels like it fits in its place with zayn’s the same way that a cigarette might slot perfectly between his fingers. for the first time since winter break, zayn feels like home on the windowsill with harry, sans cigarettes and all.

“i know haz.” zayn reaches around to hug harry, and it’s awkward and scary because they could fall out of a window but he doesn’t really care, because it’s harry, his best mate harry, and things finally feel back to normal.

-

back to normal, plus liam.


End file.
